


Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea

by justasock_x



Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Jaskier, Cuddling, First Time, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has a Big Dick, I'm so glad that's a tag, M/M, No Beta, Oral Sex, Rimming, Scent Kink, Soft!Geralt, Top!Geralt, possessive!Geralt, protective!Jaskier, sick!Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justasock_x/pseuds/justasock_x
Summary: I think I got too many memories getting in the way of me.The Witcher realizes that his bard would do anything for him, and he wants to show his appreciation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: M A N I A by Fall Out Boy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894084
Comments: 5
Kudos: 391





	Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Fics in this series are oneshots loosely based on the songs from the album M A N I A, by Fall Out Boy. Not beta-read, all mistakes are my own. Fandom knowledge comes exclusively from the TV series, other fics, and cursory Googling.

Geralt had been feverish for two days since his battle with the bruxa. It had caught his side, leaving two deep gashes that had gotten infected in the nasty, swampy area she had chosen as her nest. The cave hadn’t been nearly as cozy as some of the ones Geralt and he had stayed in, Jaskier thought snidely, dabbing again at the Witcher’s sweaty forehead. It was unsettling to see his normally keen eyes glassy with pain, his breathing uneven. Jaskier knew logically that Geralt would recover, and probably soon, but it was hard to watch the normally self-sufficient Witcher moan nonsensically. He was already more alert than he had been when Jaskier had dragged him into the inn, and the bard leaned forward as Geralt began to stir. 

“Water,” the Witcher croaked as his eyes blinked open, searching until he found Jaskier sitting next to him, a pitcher of water already in hand. Jaskier filled a cup and held it to Geralt’s mouth, watching intently as he drank it down slowly. When it was empty, Jaskier set it down on the nightstand next to the bed and began to fuss with Geralt’s pack, searching for a salve and fresh bandages. When he found what he was looking for, he returned to the bed and Geralt let him change the bandages, noting with satisfaction that the deep wounds from only two days ago were already starting to heal, a painful-looking red but no longer open and bleeding.

“You gave me quite a scare,” Jaskier said conversationally as he finished wrapping the wound, setting the salve next to the empty cup and putting his hands on his hips.

“Sorry,” Geralt rumbled, sitting up for the first time in two days, letting out a quiet noise as his side ached. 

“Sit _still_!” Jaskier snapped, jumping into a flurry of movement, one hand on the small of Geralt’s back to help him sit up. 

“Can’t,” Geralt answered, shrugging off the touch as he stood and stretched, wincing as his back popped. “We can’t stay here, Jaskier, I’m not earning any coin laying in bed.”

Jaskier huffed. “I’ve earned enough for at least two more nights, Geralt. Give me one. Please.” 

“How’d you do that? I know you haven’t left this room, Jaskier, it reeks of you.”

“I went downstairs yesterday,” Jaskier sniffed, avoiding Geralt’s eyes. He didn’t mention that he had spent his time groveling at the innkeeper’s feet until the man gave them an additional two nights free just to get Jaskier to go away.

“Hm,” Geralt mused, eyeing Jaskier skeptically. The bard resolutely ignored his gaze. “I’d like a bath.”

“I’ll send for one,” Jaskier said immediately, standing and hurrying to the door. As he left, he caught Geralt’s eyes for a moment, something indecipherable passing over his face before he shut the door behind himself. 

Geralt studied the room as he waited. It was small, with a nightstand and two single beds. The one he had been in was disheveled from his feverish movements and damp from sweat. The other one was untouched. Geralt breathed out through his nose. Silly, irresponsible bard. He probably hadn’t slept since Geralt had stumbled out of the forest, his eyes black and his side bleeding sluggishly. They would have to stay at least one more night, Geralt realized, because Jaskier had to get his rest and probably eat something. Geralt himself felt much better now that he was standing, and he had another cup of water, sipping slowly as Jaskier returned with two servants carrying a large wooden tub. 

They set it down in the cramped room and hurried back out, returning with steaming buckets of water as they filled the tub in silence. Geralt watched Jaskier watching the servants, the bard’s unnaturally blue eyes focused intently as he supervised the Witcher’s bath. When the servants were finished, Jaskier pressed a coin into each of their hands and sent them out before turning to Geralt.

“Do you need help?” he asked, voice carefully neutral. His scent was a little bitter with fear and anxiety, but never _at_ Geralt. Just _for_ him. It continued to baffle him.

Geralt cleared his throat. “Yes, please.” He could probably manage on his own, but he knew it would calm Jaskier’s frayed nerves to care for him a little bit.

Jaskier began to move again, searching for oils and soaps and helping Geralt sit in the tub, the bandages high enough on his side to avoid the water if he was careful. Geralt relaxed into the easy familiarity of Jaskier helping him bathe, strong lutist’s hands gentle near his wound but firm as they dragged the knots and sweat from his hair. It was clear Jaskier had tried to clean him up when he was insensible, but having Geralt alert and able to assist clearly pleased the bard, as he hummed the entire time he was untangling the Witcher’s long, silvery hair.

Normally, Geralt would’ve told him to shut up, but there was something soothing about being able to hear Jaskier, smell the bitterness in his scent recede as he put his hands on Geralt and confirmed for himself that the Witcher was really okay. 

“One more night,” he said eventually, once he was dried and Jaskier had helped him redress. He’d let Jaskier braid his hair back away from his face, and the delight and warm happiness that had flooded the room at the acquiescence was like a drug Geralt couldn’t stop breathing into his lungs. Jaskier’s scent was intoxicating, and it always had been for Geralt. It was why he had allowed the bard to follow him in the first place. Jaskier’s scent was pure and clean, like summer rain. He would focus on it when he was high on adrenaline and alchemy and had used it more than once to bring himself down to Earth again after a battle.

Jaskier smiled. “One more night,” he agreed. “I’ll even sing for our supper.” It was clear he was trying to wheedle Geralt out of the room. The Witcher let himself smirk and allowed Jaskier to think he’d won a mighty battle. 

“Alright, bard. Make yourself useful.” Jaskier beamed at him.

* * *

Sitting downstairs at a corner table, Geralt watched Jaskier perform as he drank his ale and mopped up the last of his dinner with a hard crust of bread. Jaskier was strumming and walking around, singing to ladies and men alike as they all tossed him coins and clapped along. Geralt had never told the bard, but he _mostly_ enjoyed the singing and ceaseless energy that Jaskier exuded when he performed. He was fun to watch, always moving and winking and teasing his audience, getting them involved enough to start tossing coin his way - or Geralt’s, if they were particularly inspired by that damned song.

“Thank you, thank you, kind people!” Jaskier shouted, bowing exuberantly and gathering his coin before he stopped at the bar and exchanged a few words with the barmaid. He approached Geralt with his own ale and another one for the Witcher. Sitting down, he slid it across the table.

“Well?” he said mischievously, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Three words or less.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “No,” he answered, but he picked up the full tankard and took a sip, pleased that Jaskier had brought him a new one.

Jaskier sighed but his smile didn’t dim. He ate his dinner when the barmaid brought it over, chattering endlessly into Geralt’s ear about the pretty barmaid, the woman who had kissed his cheek, the funny joke he overheard while he was tuning his lute. Geralt let him talk, mostly tuning him out but watching his face and expressions as he gesticulated, always so passionate about everything that he couldn’t sit still. Jaskier kept a careful eye on him, but Geralt was feeling better the more he ate and sat with the bard. The wound would probably be completely healed by the time they left the village tomorrow morning.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Jaskier asked eventually, once he’d run out of things to say. He was watching Geralt with that same strange look on his face from earlier.

“We should get some sleep,” Geralt answered as he studied Jaskier’s tired face, standing and dropping a few coins for his meal down onto the table. Jaskier scooped the coins back up and handed them to the Witcher.

“Already paid. Let’s go. I’m tired.”

Geralt accepted the coins and followed the bard up the stairs, noting the unusual slump of his shoulders. They entered the room, and Geralt was pleased to see that his bed had been stripped and remade with fresh linens, and the mess of the bath had been cleared away. Jaskier waved a hand. 

“I asked the innkeeper to have someone clean up a bit in here. I know you don’t like when servants are unattended in the room, but you needed new sheets.” 

Geralt felt something warm curl in his chest at the realization that Jaskier had taken care of him and stood vigil over him for at least two days. The dark circles under his eyes and the paleness of his complexion spoke of the long hours he must’ve spent at Geralt’s bedside, worried that despite his best efforts, Geralt wouldn’t recover. The Witcher found himself speaking before he could stop the words.

“Thank you, Jaskier. For watching over me while I was indisposed.”

Jaskier’s head whipped up, and his eyes were a little wild. “I thought you were going to die, Geralt,” he admitted in a hushed voice. “And it would be my fault, because I was too useless a companion to even help you through a fever.”

“Witchers are stronger than fevers, bard.”

“Yes, sure, tell me that _now_. You weren’t here, Geralt. Your eyes were open but you were calling for...for your mother, for me, for Yennefer. I was there, Geralt, watching you. You were calling for me, but I was right next to you. I’m not used to you being _indisposed_ , so forgive me if I’m a little shaken up about it.”

Geralt considered this. “It was not my intention to have you worry,” he finally said stiffly, frown creasing his brow.

“Oh, Geralt, come on. We both know I worry. Gods know I’ve tried to stop. I know you’ll be fine, I know we’re not friends, but honestly, Geralt. I do worry.” Jaskier folded his arms over his chest defensively, as if expecting the Witcher to yell at him. Instead, Geralt approached him slowly, hand extended. Jaskier watched him warily, but allowed Geralt to tug his arms from around himself and pull the bard into a firm hug. Jaskier’s face pressed into Geralt’s firm chest, and he let out a shaky breath.

“We _are_ friends,” the Witcher murmured. “Thank you for taking care of me, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier let a small snort slip out before he brought his arms carefully up behind the Witcher’s back to return the hug. “Thank you for being alive,” he whispered back, voice suspiciously thick. Geralt pulled back slightly to take in Jaskier’s face: his eyes were wet and red-rimmed and his lower lip was between his teeth. Gently, Geralt reached up with his thumbs to brush the tears from Jaskier’s cheeks. The bard released his lip as he let out a soft gasp, head tilting into Geralt’s hand.

“What are you doing?” the bard whispered, eyes dark and searching.

“You asked me once what pleases me,” Geralt answered, meeting Jaskier’s gaze unwaveringly. “The answer is this. You please me, Jaskier. You incorrigible, loud, pain in the ass bard.”

Jaskier laughed, startled, and stared up at Geralt’s face with shining eyes. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“It’s not a fairytale, Jaskier. Some princes don’t become kings. I am who I am, a Witcher. I’m built for killing, Jaskier, and you are the most delicate thing I’ve ever touched. Do you know how fragile you are? I could break you so easily.” 

“Geralt?”

“Mm.” The Witcher’s eyes were intense, locked on the bard’s expressive face.

“Kiss me,” Jaskier demanded, looping his arms around Geralt’s wide shoulders to yank him down the few inches needed to press their mouths together. The kiss was chaste at first, a gentle brushing exploration, but Geralt pressed closer and Jaskier gasped, and Geralt slid his tongue inside at the invitation. Jaskier let out a whimper, hips jerking into Geralt’s as their tongues slid together messily. Geralt kissed him slowly and thoroughly, until Jaskier was pulling away to catch his breath, breeches tented with his arousal. He was gratified to see the sharp glint of Geralt’s unusual eyes focused solely on him, and the answering bulge of interest in Geralt’s own leather trousers.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Geralt said, voice rumbling from deep in his chest. Jaskier shivered at the sound before he nodded, hastily stripping out of his clothes and folding them neatly. When he looked back up at Geralt, he found those eyes roving his body hungrily from head to toe, the purpose in the Witcher’s gaze as intimate as any physical touch. Geralt was still clothed, but his hand drifted to his own bulge almost absent-mindedly as he came to approach Jaskier. He let go of himself to wrap both of his arms around Jaskier’s waist and pull him into another breathtaking kiss.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Jaskier. Let me touch you. Let me take care of you, tonight,” Geralt murmured as he laid the bard out on the untouched bed. He didn’t want their first coupling to be tainted by the smell and reminder of his own sickness, which had only just dissipated from the bed across the room. The bard reclined on the bed, showing himself off for Geralt, all smooth, unblemished skin, lean muscles with a smattering of dark hair leading down his chest to his full cock.

“Please,” the bard sighed as Geralt stripped himself down. Jaskier welcomed him into the bed as he came, his arms and legs wrapping around Geralt securely. Settled between his thighs, Geralt kissed softly at Jaskier’s mouth, teasing with his tongue and gentle nips of his teeth. Jaskier was wriggling minutely, shifting against Geralt like his entire body was an erogenous zone, twitching at the lightest of caresses from Geralt’s fingers down his sharp jaw.

Geralt broke their gentle exchange to begin trailing kisses down Jaskier’s unblemished throat, the bard tipping his head back with a soft whine as Geralt began to suck a mark into the skin. One of Jaskier’s hands cupped the back of Geralt’s neck, long fingers tangled in the loose silvery-white tresses hanging down his back, while the other dug into the meat of the Witcher’s shoulder, trimmed fingernails pressing crescent marks into the scarred skin.

“Will you fuck me?” the bard murmured, voice quiet and almost shy as he looked up at Geralt through his lashes. Geralt groaned and let his head rest on Jaskier’s chest, listening to the sound of his racing heart.

“Jaskier, I will do anything you ask of me,” he answered fervently, pressing kisses down Jaskier’s chest and sternum, stopping to flick at a nipple with his tongue and taking it between his teeth when it made Jaskier let out a gasp of air. He worried both of the pretty pink nubs between fingers and teeth and tongue until they were red and sensitive and Jaskier was gasping with every breath, voice breaking as he cried out for release. Geralt would not be rushed, and he licked Jaskier's hip bones and left sucking kisses along the sensitive insides of his thighs. Jaskier’s untouched cock was swollen and red, leaking copiously as Geralt studiously ignored it to lift Jaskier’s legs onto his shoulders.

“Geralt?” the bard inquired, moving as if to sit up. 

“Hush,” Geralt admonished, pressing a hand onto the bard’s abdomen. “Be still. I said I would take care of you, did I not, little songbird?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then let me do things my way, and you’ll be quite taken care of,” Geralt told him, a smirk tugging at his lips

“Alright. As you were, then,” Jaskier huffed, waving a hand as if he weren’t so hard he was twitching, sweaty at the temples. He was gorgeous. Geralt was never letting him go. Jaskier relaxed back into the bedding, and Geralt was appeased enough by his good behavior that he pressed a kiss to the soft cheek next to his face before giving it a bite. Jaskier twitched and whimpered, and Geralt almost laughed. Jaskier was so sensitive and _loud_ all of the time, and the Witcher should’ve expected this endeavor to be much the same. He let himself look his fill, taking in the way Jaskier’s lean thighs spread over his bulky shoulders, his tight, pink hole and full balls right in Geralt’s face. 

The Witcher leaned in to inhale the scent of Jaskier’s arousal, pressing more kisses and licks along his thighs and balls before he pressed his tongue right up against Jaskier’s tempting hole.

“Ge _r_ _alt_!” the bard shouted, jerking upright only to be pressed back down by the hand still resting on his stomach. Geralt made a noise of acknowledgement which traveled through his tongue where it pressed intimately into Jaskier, causing the bard to writhe and let out a groan. Geralt ignored him and set himself to his task, tongue circling and pressing in, forcing Jaskier wide for the wet muscle to slither inside and explore. He kept at it until his jaw was aching and he was drooling down his chin, Jaskier’s cock leaking steadily while his little songbird continued to whimper nonsensically. 

When Geralt pulled away, Jaskier let out a weak whine of protest. “Please, please,” he begged, reaching for Geralt with glassy eyes. Geralt swallowed hard. His bard was ruined - wet eyes, mussed hair, swollen lips, bite marks down his chest and spread across his thighs. His cock throbbed, and he forced himself to stand and hurry to his pack to retrieve the oil. He returned quickly and was immediately set upon by Jaskier, who rolled them so that he sat astride Geralt’s lap, plucking the oil from his fingers and setting it on the nightstand. His eyes were blown wide, a thin ring of stormy blue barely visible for the size of his pupils.

“I’m going to suck your cock, Geralt, if that’s alright with you,” he said, pressing his burning, flushed cheek against Geralt’s so he could whisper it into the Witcher’s ear like a secret. 

Geralt let out a low hum. “That’s quite alright with me, little songbird.”

Jaskier grinned, sliding down Geralt’s body to settle between his legs and heft the weight of his heavy cock into his hand. _Mutagens_ , Jaskier had to marvel, his long, slim fingers barely able to fit around the base of Geralt’s cock. It was pretty to look at, long and thick, with a beautiful pearl of precome waiting for him at the tip of the pink head. He darted down to taste, his tongue swiping at the weeping head and drawing a wounded sound from deep in Geralt’s chest. Pleased, Jaskier began to take the head of Geralt’s cock into his mouth, covering his teeth and going slow to test his gag reflex.

In the end, he could only take about half of it down his throat, but it seemed more than enough for Geralt, whose hips were moving in minute thrusts as Jaskier drooled on his cock, using the slick of spit and precome to ease the motions of his hand around the base. Geralt watched as Jaskier’s lips reddened, his hands fisted in the bedsheets to stop himself from grabbing at the wild mess of his brown hair and choking him like he wanted to. He had promised to take care of Jaskier tonight, though, and this was not part of the plan. He decided a little indulgence couldn’t hurt, and he slid one hand into Jaskier’s mop of hair before gripping firmly and beginning to pull.

Jaskier whined, attempting to ignore the hand pulling him off of Geralt’s cock, but eventually he let it slip from his mouth, swollen lower lip sticking out.

“I said I would take care of you, not the other way around,” he pointed out, staring at the shine of his own precome on Jaskier’s pouting mouth. 

“I want you to come in my mouth,” the bard whined, still held up by his hair and eyeing Geralt’s cock like a particularly tasty treat. Geralt groaned.

“No,” he said firmly, giving a decisive shake of his head. “Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to finger open your hole, Jaskier, until you’re begging me to put my cock inside you. Then I’m going to fuck you, nice and slow, until you come from the feeling of me filling you up the way I’ve been fantasizing about for months. Does that sound agreeable? Hm? I know you want my come inside you.”

Jaskier swallowed hard, eyes half-lidded and face still flushed before nodding slowly, heedless of the hand still twisted in his hair. “Yes, Geralt. Please.”

Geralt released the hair in his fist and grabbed the oil, popping the cork and drizzling it over his thick fingers. He knew Jaskier would need to be thoroughly prepared to take him comfortably, and he was quite looking forward to watching Jaskier’s body stretch to accommodate his fingers and his cock. Pressing a finger against the bard’s hole, Geralt gently pressed and massaged at the skin until he felt it start to give. His saliva-wet cock twitched as he sank a finger into that tight, pink opening, twisting and curling to spread the oil as he went. Jaskier made a punched-out sound and his thighs spasmed, but he opened beautifully with some careful coaxing and a lot of oil. By the time Geralt was sliding four fingers into the bard he was writhing and flushed, sweaty from the constant motions of his hips as he fucked himself onto Geralt’s fingers.

“Geralt, please, please fuck me. You said you would if I begged and I’m _begging_ , please,” he managed, hips twisting and fingers digging into the sheets to refrain from touching himself. 

Geralt grunted an affirmation and Jaskier sobbed with loss when he removed his fingers. He took up the oil again and poured more into his hand before covering his cock with a few perfunctory pumps of his hand. He knew if he lingered, he would come. Jaskier looked stunning, sweaty and fucked out, his hole shining with oil and twitching for something to fill it. 

Geralt arranged him on his back, spreading him wide with the bard’s strong legs over his shoulders. He pressed inside, groaning as Jaskier cried out at the penetration. Gods, but he was tight and slick inside, soft and welcoming after the care Geralt had taken with his preparation. His hole contracted hard while Geralt worked his way inside and he paused, waiting for the muscle to relax before pushing the rest of the way, heavy balls resting against the soft cheeks of Jaskier’s ass.

“Oh, fuck, Geralt, please. Please, I need to come,” Jaskier whined, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Geralt grinned at the bruises peppering his throat and chest, the sensitive nubs of his nipples bright red from Geralt’s mouth and hands, the beard burn from Geralt’s stubble on his thighs. 

“I’m going to fuck you Jaskier, deep and hard, just like you need,” he growled, fingers digging into the meat of Jaskier’s thighs as he set a luxurious pace, thrusting slow and deep into Jaskier’s pliant body. Jaskier arched and begged, body twisting as he struggled towards his orgasm. His thighs were tense against Geralt’s shoulders, and he twisted his head to rub his cheek soothingly against one as his hips picked up pace. He changed his angle slightly and Jaskier shouted, bringing his hands up to twist in Geralt’s hair and drag him down to meet his mouth.

They kissed like they were fighting, all teeth and tongue until Jaskier went tense and moaned long and low into Geralt’s mouth, grinding against Geralt’s abs and painting their bellies with his seed. Geralt had been mostly ignoring his own arousal, focused on making Jaskier come, but now he let loose, hips rocking hard and deep into the bard as he lay there whimpering and shivering from the aftershocks of his powerful orgasm. His cock was still dripping, body lax and oversensitive, when Geralt hauled their mouths together and came inside him, pulsing wet and plentiful. When he was done and the spots had cleared, Geralt pulled out of Jaskier carefully, and his bard flopped down uselessly onto the bedding.

“I’m dead,” Jaskier declared, fingertips touching his swollen mouth. “You’ve gone and killed me with your giant cock, which, by the way, I’d like to touch again very soon.”

“Insatiable,” Geralt mumbled, standing and wetting a cloth to wipe himself down. Jaskier’s eyes went soft as Geralt cleaned him up, carefully wiping the mess of oil and come from between his thighs and checking his hole for any damage. Finding none, he tossed the dirtied cloth and scooped Jaskier up into his arms without warning, hiding his smirk when the bard squawked indignantly.

“I am a grown man, Geralt of Rivia!” he whined, pounding uselessly at Geralt’s naked chest.

“Will you shut up?” the Witcher groaned, dumping him on the other bed and pushing at him until there was enough space for them both to lay down. The Witcher settled into his side before reaching out to gather Jaskier into his arms. The bard came readily enough, snuggling into Geralt’s chest and burying his face in the Witcher’s shoulder. He started humming.

“This better not be in a song,” the Witcher growled in warning.

“Geralt, honestly. You’re no fun at all,” Jaskier teased, patting his chest. Geralt grabbed his hand and tangled their fingers together. They fell asleep like that, Jaskier’s melody whispering in Geralt’s dreams.


End file.
